


Death and Passage

by Alona



Category: The Song of the Lioness - Tamora Pierce, Tortall - Tamora Pierce
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Background canon pairings, Gen, Mental Health Issues, Sibling Bonding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-03
Updated: 2016-06-03
Packaged: 2018-07-11 22:11:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7072489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alona/pseuds/Alona
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thom survives the Coronation Day attack.  It's hard to say whether this causes more problems for him or Alanna.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Death and Passage

There was no moment of transition. 

From idly wondering how wound up Alanna was getting at the coronation he'd declined to attend, Thom went to reeling from a pain that defied description, a sickening tug, tug, tug, like all his flesh rushing to turn itself inside out. The speed of it made him black out for a merciful instant. The strength was unbearable. His head was splitting. No one could be in so much pain for long and live. With a tremendous effort he turned his head to look at the table where Roger was translating a scroll. 

_Had been_ translating a scroll. Now the Duke of Conté was lounging against the back of his chair, arms folded, smiling warmly. 

"It must be excruciating," he said casually. "Yes, I'm sorry to say there was no way around it. I need the power, you see. Everything else is already in place." The fixed, faraway look of a sorcerer concentrating on a great working settled over his face. 

Ignored, understanding nothing except that this was, somehow, Roger's doing, Thom pulled together enough of his forces to spit a word of command. It scorched his throat. 

Roger rocked back on his heels as if he'd been punched in the stomach. Then he let out a startled laugh. "I'm impressed you can work magic in this state. Still," he added, "it hasn't done you any good." 

He raised his hands before his chest. A ball of rusty red fire gathered between them, growing steadily. At a wave it bled away. Thom's Gift bled away with it. His knees gave out, and he fell to the floor. 

"You see," Roger continued, his confiding tone sailing over the moans and sputters Thom heard himself making, "you've been keeping my Gift safe since my return. It could have been anyone clever enough to bring me back – but I admit I always hoped, if it became necessary, it would be you." He knelt close to where Thom had fallen. "A few times, near the end, I wanted to tell you. It would have been interesting to see if your loyalty would have withstood the revelation. But it was – oh, much more fun if you didn't know. Do you see?"

The agony had subsided enough to resolve into a number of separate sensations – the deep inner yank drawing away his Gift, the drilling in his skull, a bone-shattering chill as his temperature dropped for the first time in months, sickness as his body rebelled against the whole process. Struggling against cold, leaden limbs and flashes of darkness shimmering across his vision, Thom scrambled to his feet, desperately trying to think. What was Roger _doing_? Leeching spell? Must be. But how had he – ? And then: Alanna! If Roger could get to him, then she – 

"I wouldn't try to stand just now, if I were you," said Roger. 

Thom was shaking – no, it was the earth itself. The floor heaved under his feet, and he would have fallen again had Roger not flowed upright and deftly gathered him against his chest. Thom struggled against his arms, kicked wildly at his shins. It did no good and wouldn't have even if he'd been at his full strength. 

With one of his easy laughs, Roger picked Thom up and carried him into the bedroom, where he arranged him on the bed. 

"I can't stay. I have an appointment to keep with your sweet sister." He smoothed Thom's hair back thoughtfully. 

Thom hardly had the strength to turn his head away. Finding his voice, he rasped, "She'll kill you. What you're doing – whatever this is – she won't let you." 

"I don't think so. She'll come for me, and I'll have her Gift, too. There are ways, as you know. If that's still not enough power – well. Your master is around here somewhere, isn't he. Good of you to bring him." Roger paused. "You've been very good to me, Thom. I have everything I need from you. I can give you a quick death, right now, if you'd like." 

Alanna would've spat in his face. Thom considered it, but his mouth was too dry. He wasn't about to make himself ridiculous by trying and failing. Any idiot could get dying right. Thom of Trebond, the most powerful sorcerer in the Eastern Lands, was no idiot. He paused in satisfaction over the fading sense of connection to Roger; he had known Roger's Gift wasn't as powerful as his own. A laugh like a creaking door escaped him. 

"No?" said Roger, taking the laugh for an answer. "Just as you like." And he turned and left the room without another glance at Thom. 

Thom had felt the moment Roger's interest snapped away from him. It was more humiliating than all the rest to realize he had fallen prey to Roger's charm no less than all the fools before him, with every warning and every reason not to. 

He faded in and out of consciousness. The tremors in the earth continued, though he couldn't always tell them from the subsiding tremors wracking his body. These stayed with him as he drifted. All in my mind, really, he thought in a burst of lucidity. When his hold on consciousness weakened, days and years seemed to pass as he struggled alone with his growing comprehension of what was happening and his anticipation of death. When he swam back up to the world and its dimming light he knew it had been only seconds. He took in the fallen ornaments and toppled furniture. He thought he heard distant screaming. 

Alanna was coming. All along he'd felt her panic somewhere far off and muted, and he was afraid. Could he warn her? Would she try to use her Gift, in spite of his and Si-cham's cautions?

Alanna was in the next room. He heard her, moving around, looking for him. He tried to call out to her but couldn't make himself heard. The effort exhausted him. His eyes closed, and he drifted again. 

Alanna was beside him now. He yanked himself over the edge into consciousness. Pulling her to him with all the strength he had left, he gasped out the whole story at once. Roger's plans, the threat to her Gift, the threat to them all – her lost, desperate face, very close to his, was all he could see, vanishing amid a blizzard of pinprick lights – she had killed Roger once and she could do it again. He was sure of it. He loved her, and he was proud of her. A good thing there wasn't time for a sentimental speech. Though it was too bad he'd never find out what Roger had done. 

Alanna's face was gone. Far away, but approaching, he saw the Black God coming for him. The pain had not gone, but there was so little of him left to feel it. 

"Goddess, no," whispered Alanna. Her panicked voice shook. "Not like this, oh my Mother, _please._ "

Foolish, thought Thom, don't waste your time. He tried to tell her as much, but he had lost control of his body altogether. A white mist rushed in, flooding everything away, even the vision of the Black God. It smelled – what did he smell it _with_? – it smelled of frost and deep forests and wet fur, and it vibrated with the baying of hounds and the rushing of icy waterfalls. Then even these sensations were lost in an endless, featureless whiteness. 

 

Duke Baird met her coming down the corridor. "The answer is still no. His Majesty said you weren't to be allowed to heal unless the rest of us were falling off our feet. We aren't."

"I'm only checking on Thom," said Alanna, which was almost the truth. She would have liked Baird to change his mind and let her do something – anything – but she was past hoping for it. 

Baird's expression softened. "I promised I would send a messenger at once if there was anything to tell."

Alanna scowled. "I need him to know I'm here."

Shaking his head slightly, the duke turned and accompanied her to the temporary ward that had been set up in a part of the palace deemed safe, while the largely demolished healers quarters were dug out. Anyone well enough to move had been patched up and sent home. The makeshift ward, divided by curtains and wooden screens, still held scores of occupied pallets. 

Thom's was towards the back, in sight of the rest but a little apart, at the request of the other patients. He looked the same as he had the last three days – breathing, motionless. His color was better than when Roger had been killing him, but his stillness was unnatural. Alanna had taken enough stray limbs to the face on forced camping trips as a child: Thom was a restless sleeper. No, he certainly wasn't asleep. 

Her hand went involuntarily to the ember stone at her throat. As before, it revealed no magic around Thom. Alanna, after some painful deliberation, had told Duke Baird as much about the circumstances behind Thom's condition as she could take handing over, and he'd judged it safest to avoid laying any healing on him until he was awake. 

When Alanna had made her reckless plea to the Goddess, the immortal's voice had tolled in her head, saying, "You may not thank me for granting this boon." Was this what she had meant? Would her twin never wake? What then?

The pull to lie down beside him and wait was so strong she practically felt herself doing it, but instead she took his limp hand and stood by his pallet until the sense of her own powerlessness overwhelmed her. 

There had been more than enough of that already in her day. The aftermath of Roger's attack was nothing but death, ever present and unrelenting. She'd attended funerals for Liam and some of the others killed defending Jonathan, and she'd witnessed the burnings of the dead attackers' bodies on Traitor's Hill. Even listening as heralds read out Jonathan's pardons of the living had been no comfort. 

Leaving Thom as she had found him, she stopped by one of the large townhouses close to the palace. Thayet had rounded up a number of noble women to aid her in an effort to collect and distribute supplies to those hardest hit by the earthquakes, and they'd made this house's courtyard their headquarters. Alanna was impressed by the degree of activity and organization she found there. She'd expected something more like a garden party – well, she'd been forced to attend more than anyone's fair share of ladies' charitable gatherings as a squire – but instead she found a brisk operation assembled with the rigor of a military camp.

Searching for her friend among the bustle, she saw that Jonathan had come to bless her efforts. They were talking seriously together over a ledger. Alanna was pleased with the picture they made, and more pleased with the stunned reverence that kept finding its way onto Jon's face when he thought Thayet wasn't looking. Still, it gave her a pang to watch them. 

Thayet glanced up and noticed her. Sending Jonathan off with a graceful phrase – Alanna couldn't hear it, but the style of delivery was clear enough – she made her way out of the crowd. Bracing a basket against her hip, she pulled Alanna into a tight one-armed hug. 

"Any news?" she asked. 

Alanna shook her head. She was tired of being asked, but Thayet at least sounded like she was actually concerned. "I like the looks of this," she said, gesturing towards the activity in the courtyard as she drew away. "Show me around?"

"Of course. You'll have the Champion's tour – just like the Royal tour, only I'll put you to work afterwards." 

"I'd appreciate it," said Alanna.

"I thought you might." 

When the tour was over, Thayet set her to help hand out bedding. It was near dark when they returned to Myles's townhouse in time for supper. Alanna was almost tired enough to hope for sounder sleep than she'd been getting. 

Regular meals for what broadly constituted family had been reinstated at once, at Mistress Cooper's insistence. They would all feel better for it, she'd said. Seeing the table without Liam's familiar presence hurt, though, and George had left that morning on an assignment from Jon. Their goodbye had been subdued. The whole party was reduced and awkward with each other in their grief. 

It was Coram, not quite meeting her eye, who said, "Did ye look in on Lord Thom today?"

"Still out," said Alanna gruffly. If she said anything else, she knew she would scream. 

When the uncomfortable murmur of sympathy had died down, Myles, who'd hardly taken a drink all evening, said, "After what happened, he might have had the good grace to die."

There was a smothered gasp in the room, and then no one said anything. They held their breaths, braced for Alanna's temper to flare out, Alanna herself as much as the rest. To her surprise she found it was for nothing. The bubble of panicked rage had burst and vanished when Myles spoke. The edge of her temper felt dulled, as if she'd been trying to fell a mountain with it. Fighting Myles wouldn't help anything. 

"I didn't realize you hated him," she said. 

"I'm sorry," said Myles. "The sentiment was unworthy of me. Whatever part he may have played it all this, he is still your brother, and you have the right to feel as you do. Forgive a tired old man?" 

He did look tired, and he did look old. Alanna felt wretched. She nodded, biting her lip. "He didn't know about any of it. Not until it was too late." 

"I won't be the only one to suggest otherwise," was all Myles said, before Eleni stepped in to steer the conversation away. But it was enough to trouble Alanna's already uneasy sleep. Myles was right. Everyone knew Thom had been close to Roger after the resurrection. If they wondered whether he'd played a part in Roger's final plot, how far could she blame them? 

 

The messenger sent by the healers found her in the palace training yard before dawn to tell her that Thom was awake. Alanna outpaced the messenger on her way to the makeshift ward. 

One of Baird's assistants told her Thom had fallen into a more natural sleep soon after waking. He hadn't said anything. Alanna found her brother sprawled among rumpled sheets, one elbow sticking out and his face hidden in its crook. She sat on the edge of his pallet and reached for his shoulder. 

"No," he said, tensing away from her touch. 

"It's me," she said, heart in her throat. "Alanna."

He dropped his arm, then half-sat, propping himself on both elbows with a wince. "I thought..." For a long moment he just looked at her. His face was still dangerously thin, and a new hollowness Alanna did not like showed in his eyes. Then, in a weak voice, he said, "D'you rush straight from cutting down a whole army to see me?"

"You're not looking your best, either," said Alanna. She glanced down at her sweat-streaked practice clothes, then leaned down to gather Thom into a hug, much more hastily than she'd intended. After a moment his arms went around her. Hiding her suddenly tear-filled eyes against his hair, she said, "And you almost died on me – you don't get to tease me now." 

She sat back. If she expected him to point out that it was her brother's natural role to tease her, she was disappointed. Calmly, he said, "Why didn't I die? I should've." 

His casual tone didn't fool her. "Don't," she whispered. The tears rolled down her cheeks. 

Thom lay back against his pillow and held out his hand. Alanna grasped it tightly. She looked away for as long as it took her to stop thinking of how close she'd come to sitting beside him like this, holding the hand of a corpse. When she looked back, she thought Thom had been crying, too. 

He stared past her for a moment, then tossed his head. "You finished him, then?"

"How could you tell?"

"The palace is still standing. More or less." His eyes swept the cracked molding on the ceiling. 

"I killed him," she said, wondering uneasily how much of what else had happened he'd picked up from his fellow patients and the healers. "He wanted to destroy everything. He was – insane." 

"I'm sure," said Thom softly. His eyes slid shut. 

"Thom – "

Not opening his eyes, he said, "What is it?"

"Your Gift."

"I can't feel it." His voice was flat. "There's just – nothing." 

"It might come back."

He looked at her, then. Who was Thom anyway, if he couldn't be a sorcerer? thought Alanna. Either he read the thought in her face, or the same one came to him, for he grinned wryly. "I know. I think I need to rest now. And you," he added, sniffing, "need a bath." 

 

"No, no, no!" cried Alanna, stomping into Thom's rooms and seizing him by the arm.

He pushed away his notes one-handed and set down his pen. He knew this mood. Alanna wasn't going to let him get back to work anytime soon. "I've only just sat down." 

"Well, get up. You won't get any stronger slouching over your books all day."

Thom wanted to protest that he was strong enough for his sedentary mode of life, but it wasn't true. Insisting he was fine, he'd made a start on sorting out his books and papers, tossed around and jumbled by the quakes. After that he'd spent much of the last two days in bed, chilled and sweating by turns, calling out instructions to Alanna as she carried on the effort. For some reason she hadn't appreciated his warning to look out for the scrap of the Tapestry of Hiram the Occult, which would sear the eyes of any unworthy person who gazed upon it. Her questions about how he'd gotten his hands on it had been a little too pointed, anyway, coming from someone who'd carried a cursed sword around for months without sharing the fun. His loving sister, it turned out, was not above throwing a cushion at a poor invalid's head. 

Whatever the Goddess had done for him – and he shuddered whenever he thought of Alanna's temerity in invoking her patron's intercession on his behalf – it hadn't healed the damage done by months of being devoured from within. His joints, his very bones ached, and he hadn't been able to keep down anything but the healers' concoction for a week after coming around. Then they'd finally let him return to his own rooms, and _this_ had happened. 

But he was feeling well enough today to get started on research that wouldn't wait any longer. Only Alanna had to get in the way. 

"I've already said I wasn't going to take up exercise," he said. "I've got you if I need violence done, don't I?"

His sister snorted. "And I already said you're being silly, but that's got nothing to do with it. We're going for a walk."

"Thanks, no," said Thom, shaking off her hand. She let him do it. 

"Just a little. It'll help, I promise. Here." She held out her arm. "I'm not moving till you come with me." 

Thom took the offered arm and, leaning heavily on Alanna, levered himself out of his chair. How could standing be such a chore? As soon as he eased his grip on her he half-fell and caught himself painfully against the chair. His wrist twisted, and he let out an oath so foul it had Alanna halfway through the Sign against evil before she caught herself. 

"Where'd you pick that one up?" she asked, sounding almost awed. 

"The Mithrans have a much more interesting relationship with their god than you'd think."

"Clearly." She tapped her Goddess's token. 

Out in the hall, Alanna reached down and took Thom's hand. He was surprised but didn't question it. Maybe she thought it would be easier to catch him when he stumbled this way. 

They went slowly, aiming for the indoor courtyard nearest Thom's rooms. Those who passed them stared, curious and afraid, and the stares were so similar to the treatment the two of them had received back at Trebond, when they were known to all as Lord Alan's peculiar, Gifted children, that added to his sister still holding his hand Thom was caught between conflicting impulses to shuffle behind her or shield her. He began to wish she would let him go. 

Still, the time wasn't entirely wasted. The further they went, the less they had to pause for him to catch his breath. A sense of well-being came gradually over him, the haze of exhaustion he'd almost accepted as permanent melting away. With every breath his lungs filled more easily, and the air was more invigorating. In all, it wasn't the worst idea Alanna had ever had. 

Wait. Glancing over at her, he saw what he expected. No one who didn't know Alanna as well as he did would have recognized that twist in her chin – the one that meant she was holding her tongue between her teeth, the way she always did when she healed. 

"You don't need to," he said, grinning. He supposed it was just because her magic was more familiar, but being healed by Alanna had always felt different – better – than when anyone else tried it. Had he read something about that once? It was worth looking into. 

Alanna whispered a "so mote it be" and dropped his hand. "Damn," she added. 

"What, you thought I wouldn't notice? And why not just offer? Somewhere in the last two days?"

"I heard from the palace healers you'd told them not to try any more healing on you." 

"Because nothing else was going to help," said Thom, " _besides_ shoving strength at me every once in a while, which none of them are up to. Didn't they mention that part?"

"I don't think _you_ did," said Alanna. 

"I'm tired of it, anyway – how they're terrified whenever they touch me. I can always see it."

"I'm not afraid."

"I never said you were." They'd reached the courtyard by now. Thom dropped onto the wide lip of a fountain still dry after its pipes had been wrenched into a tangle by the quakes. "I _do_ feel a lot better now. Just don't wear yourself out with it. I'd probably let you."

"As much as you need," said Alanna, so seriously that Thom saw he was going to have to change the subject at once. 

"Are you going to stay at court now?" he asked. 

Taken aback, Alanna just stared at him. 

"Are you settling down here?" he continued. "Itching to run off on another adventure? What've you been doing with yourself, when you haven't been nursemaiding me?"

Alanna frowned. "I'm _worried_ about you. There's little enough for me to do until Jonathan's got the country back up and running, and I can't leave you alone again until I know you're all right."

"Again?"

"What?"

"You said again. You can't leave me alone – again."

She dropped her gaze. "We were apart for a long time. That's all."

It wasn't, and they both knew it, but Thom let it go. If Alanna thought she had to be here to keep him from doing anything else foolish and potentially world-ending, even without his Gift, it wouldn't do any good to force it out of her while he still had no reassurances to give her. 

 

Gary dropped his hand on her shoulder. Jonathan looked as if he would've liked to do the same, but he was sitting across the table from her. She'd have to go through him get to the lord who had spoken, though, and he probably felt pretty good about that just now. 

"It has never been our intention to investigate Lord Thom's involvement in our recent troubles," said Jonathan in his kingliest voice. "We have taken our Lioness's assurance that he had no knowledge of our cousin's plans. If you are unsatisfied with the opinion of the king's justice, you are welcome to issue a challenge. Know that it would reflect upon our honor and the dignity of our throne, and thus would be for our Champion to settle." 

The lord took one look at Alanna's face. That settled him. "Your Majesty, my humblest apologies. I meant to cast no aspersions on the working of your justice. Forgive me." 

Jonathan nodded cooly and moved the council meeting on without so much as an awkward pause. He was getting very good at that. 

Afterwards, Alanna said to him, "You could have made him grovel a little more."

"Not for Thom, and not even for you, lady knight." 

"After Uncle came out and pardoned Roger," Gary put in, "and overlooked Thom's spot of necromancy, it would look like deliberately pointing out his weakness to pry too closely into your brother's doings now. We're stuck with it, but I admit I would like it better without too many displays like that one. That is _not_ the sort of atmosphere we're trying to foster."

"Others have said it and will say it again," said Jonathan, "and if they aren't at my council table, throwing it in my face, there's precious little I can do about it. You must learn to live with it, Alanna. I'm sorry." 

She hung back just long enough for them to believe she wasn't angry at them – she was, but it was mostly for being so reasonable and so right – then went for a ride. She needed the exercise, and getting to see the city and its surroundings picking themselves back up was reassuring. There would be an end to all this, though it didn't always feel like it. 

 

Even when Alanna didn't come to check on him, Thom found it hard going to make it through his research. Some days were fine, and aside from tiring too quickly and aching too much he managed to fill his time with study. Other days, he'd feel like he couldn't work, or do anything else, however much he meant to, and it would take him hours, or sometimes the whole day, to understand that this was because he'd woken up convinced he had died. 

It scared him to realize that he'd made this obvious mistake, and he couldn't account for it. Alanna's visits often brought on the creeping recognition. He didn't explain it to her – he didn't know what to say, and didn't want her suspecting he'd gone mad – but she knew something was wrong. Their walks continued, as did her attempts to strengthen him. 

During the walks, which ranged further out into the castle grounds as his physical recovery progressed, they were at times accompanied by others. At first the meetings were ostensibly random. Jonathan, or Gary, or Thayet, or whoever it was, would just happen to be passing. Alanna would start a conversation and attempt to draw Thom in. After a while she was inviting them along openly, one at a time. 

Thom saw what she was doing, though not quite why she bothered. He could have told her it was no use. He'd lived with most of these people at court for over a year without the least shred of mutual liking manifesting between them. It was only worse now. 

One day, when Alanna came to collect him for yet another walk, he protested that they'd gone only the day before. 

Alanna raised her arms to the ceiling in an imploring gesture. Grinning as she lowered them, she said, "We could always go over the Trebond accounts some more instead..." 

Thom sighed. "You don't play fair, dearest sibling. Where are we going today?"

"I thought to the chapel of the Goddess and back," said Alanna. The chapel stood on the palace grounds, in reasonable distance and with plenty of places to sit down. She often chose it as their destination. 

Thom said, "Only if I don't have to talk to the daughters this time when they come to glare at me."

"They don't glare," said Alanna. "You'll have to look at the accounts sometime, you know. Make some decisions, too."

She was being uncommonly vague, for Alanna, but Thom knew she was thinking of the mess he'd made of Trebond's finances during his time at court. Coram, visiting at his sickbed for a wonder, had been direct enough. Thom had got the whole story of Coronation Day out of him in return, though, with Coram thinking he was reading Thom a lecture on the consequences of his actions, when Thom had wanted more than anything to hear all about it. Recounting Si-cham's fate, Coram had paused, looking sympathetic. "I didn't like the old man, anyway," Thom had snapped. Coram had been shocked. No doubt the exchange had been reported to Alanna. 

"Here's a thought," he said as they left his rooms. "Jonathan can't charge me with collusion without making his late father out to be a fool, but no one would complain if he went after me for failing in my duties to my fief." 

Alanna froze. "Stop that!" she said. Taking a slow breath, she added, "I'm sorry, Thom, but you have to stop thinking like that. No one's blaming you for anything. Do you _want_ them to?" When he didn't answer, she said, " _Do_ you? Are you – Thom, do you feel guilty – about Roger, I mean?"

She cleared her throat uneasily, and Thom felt his own breath catch a little. It was the first time she'd mentioned Roger directly since his attack. Thom had been perfectly satisfied letting her talk around the issue. He didn't have anything to say. 

Guilty? he thought as they made their way outside, speaking little. The idea hadn't occurred to him. For months he'd worried about what Alanna would make of him bringing Roger back, but she wasn't angry with him – she'd said she wasn't, anyway. He felt stupid, mostly, for having let Delia goad him, for not having worked out what Roger was doing earlier, for having believed – having wanted to believe – that Roger had any interest in him except as a means to an end. He would never be through kicking himself for that bit of self-deception. Or was that something he'd grafted on later? Had he known all along, even as he fended off Jonathan and the rest? It was hard to remember.

"I know how he did it," he said. 

"What?"

"What he did – how he worked it. Attaching his Gift to mine. I understand." The weight of Alanna's gaze pressed on him. "Your hint about the Sorcerer's Sleep helped. Coram passed it on," he explained. 

"Merciful Mother, is _that_ what you've been doing?" 

"What else?" said Thom. "Without my Gift? And I had to know. You understand that." 

"Maybe," she said, still sounding unhappy. He noticed she didn't ask for an explanation. For her, this final death of Roger's had brought the whole story to a close. Thom envied her, a little. 

At the chapel, Thom took a seat on a bench and watched his sister pace. She obviously had something to say. 

Eventually, she stopped a little distance from him. "It's eating at you, not having your Gift."

"Oh, no," said Thom brightly. "I hardly ever think of it. I've seen the error of my ways, you know, setting so much store by something as immaterial as the power of my sorcery, and I'm glad to have so much temptation out of my reach. I'm ready to do my service to the realm in a small, mundane way. I only await the chance."

Alanna snorted. "Next time, try sounding less bitter. That way, someone who's not me might believe you."

Who'd ask? thought Thom, but he said, "It's true I don't think about it all that much, though. It's like there's nothing _to_ think about. There's no – " He stopped, fumbling for words, frustrated with himself for saying anything in the first place. "Without magic, I can imagine someone, some person, doing _something_ , but he's got nothing to do with _me_."

"You're still smarter'n me," said Alanna, sitting down beside him, "and you're still my brother."

He bumped her shoulder with his in acknowledgement. It didn't help, but it was comforting that she'd tried. It was still strange, the two of them spending so much time together after all those years apart. Despite never having doubted her love in his rational moments, he hadn't been sure that they'd still like each other. She was staying in Corus for his sake, grumbling steadily more about the virtues of the desert as winter drew on, but staying. 

His head had begun to hurt, sending a dull, hot ache to his shoulders and all the way down to his fingertips. "Listen – you must have something to do today."

"Not really. No one's challenged me to a duel all week, and it's no good me sitting in on the King's council, at least until we have a war to plan."

"No trysts with your rogue?"

"George is away again. And he's not exactly mine – right now."

Thom shook his head. George had been to see him a couple of times while he was back in Corus. Not conversations he liked to dwell on particularly, but it had been obvious George felt the same as ever about Alanna.

"Why?" said Alanna, sitting up straight. "Are you trying to get rid of me?"

"Never. I'm just sure I'm keeping you from something important." 

"Raoul did invite me to look over some horses he's considering for the Own this afternoon," she admitted. 

"Then go. I'll make it back on my own. I _can_ ," he added, seeing her hesitate. "I feel great." 

"I'm not fooled, y'know," she said, getting up. "You're sending me away on purpose, and I'm letting you, because I'm taking your word for it you're all right."

"Noted." 

When she was out of earshot, Thom hastily cleared his throat. He'd felt a pressure like a hand closing over it, getting steadily more insistent for the last several minutes. He cleared his throat again. There was no obstruction, but he couldn't convince himself not to feel that pressure. 

He stood, pacing a close circle around the bench. He knew where he had to go. It was only a question of holding out as long as he could – not long at all, it turned out. One hand pressed against the growing weight in his chest, Thom went to visit the tomb that had briefly housed Roger of Conté.

He hadn't been thinking of it, not until he'd confessed to Alanna what he'd been doing, but the idea had been growing on him ever since. He'd done it at last, even without his Gift – proven there was nothing Roger could come up with that he couldn't unravel. It had left him peculiarly unsatisfied. 

There hadn't been a guard there the first time he'd come. No reason for it, despite the fact that he'd already publicly announced his intention to raise the dead. No one had suspected that he would try it on Roger. But what would have been the point, otherwise, performing such a feat with no witness capable of understanding the magnitude of it? Even, it was a way of showing his own power greater than that of a renowned sorcerer. He'd probably have made the same choice without Delia's prompting. Had he thought of it as humbling his sister's greatest enemy? No, that didn't sound like him at all. 

He understood now that he'd succeeded because of Roger's own preparation. Still, he was the only one who could have done it.

There was no guard this time, either, for there was nothing left to guard. Roger's body had been consumed by the Gate of Idramm. 

Thom crossed to the empty bier. The space would have to be put to another purpose one day, but for now everyone was more comfortable pretending Roger had never existed. Hesitating, he laid his hand on the cool stone. 

The air around him hummed and crackled with power. It was magic, thick and raw. But whose could it be? 

Only Roger's. The bottom dropping out of his stomach, Thom knew, absolutely knew, that Roger was not dead. No one else knew, or they had all lied to him.

Roger was alive. He was waiting, somewhere, back outside the tomb, perhaps, or in Thom's rooms. He would find Thom, and say all the things he'd said before, during the months Thom had hidden his return from the court. He'd been Roger's only company then and thought he could wrest magical secrets from him. But Roger, whatever else wandering on the borders of life had done to him, hadn't lost his power to captivate. He'd lauded Thom's matchless feat, offered him the whole breadth of his knowledge and his help in research. He'd said that they were alone the world, both of them, Roger betrayed and Thom friendless. Alanna had been far away and getting farther, and Thom had cut her off before that, not wanting her to know what he was doing, fearing what she would think of him. Telling himself that Roger was wrong hadn't done any good – and he was almost right. Thinking back, none of Roger's smooth words had meant anything; they'd just felt so convincing at the time. 

He'd asked Thom to tell him everything he could about Alanna. The things he'd said – if he was guilty about anything, ashamed of anything, it was that he had betrayed his twin. He knew he had, though it hadn't seemed that way at the time. 

Remembering that Roger had been destroying him all along would do no good, once he began to talk. That was obvious. The same crushing loneliness he had denied and denied but which had risen closer and closer to the surface every time he gave Roger a chance to chip away at him closed its fist around him. The pain in his chest was suffocating. He couldn't draw enough breath. He was dying again. That didn't matter. though. He would prove it. He'd prove he wasn't alone. 

A small, very reasonable voice, in fact his own voice, pointed out that he was obviously going mad. His borrowed life was wrong, as Roger's had been, and there was a price to pay. 

That voice was right – he usually was right – but he had no conviction of its rightness.

Forgetting he had no Gift, he gathered power to reach out to Alanna. But no – she was too far to reach, seeking the Dominion Jewel. (He hadn't known at the time she was seeking it – had he?) And if he touched her magic, Roger would have it. He couldn't let that happen – only, that had come later, hadn't it?

Couldn't risk it, anyway. He let the power dissipate. A wave of purple flames, burning off sparks of orange as it went, splashed and rolled over the floor, leaving smoldering heaps of dust behind before lapping against the far wall and vanishing. 

Thom collapsed, his back thumping against the bier. He gasped for breath until the gasps were sobs. In uneven lurches he sobbed until he couldn't make a sound, slumping further and further down with his hands in his hair. 

After a while, he told himself he was being ridiculous. He sat up a little and wiped his face, listening to his breathing grow slowly less ragged. This was the worst part of these episodes – the time when he was coming out of them, embarrassed at himself, unable to understand how he'd made such a mistake. He'd known all along what the truth, hadn't he? Well, hadn't he? 

None of the other times had been as bad as this one. 

But then, he thought, experimentally conjuring a light, none of them had given him his Gift back either. Things could get back to normal now. 

In a little while, he'd worry about moving. 

 

"So by then most of them had scattered – right into the Own's waiting arms, of course – and there was nothing to do but set up some defenses to give 'em a chance next time something like this happens. You wouldn't believe that place!" Alanna toppled backwards over the arm of a chair and ticked off objections on her fingers. "Terrible vantage point, no moat, sitting on soft clay, parapets barely up to my hip, _windows_ in the _tower_ – ! Who'd design a castle like that? It might've been _made_ to fall to a siege. The baron must've had some half-witted chickens for ancestors. And it _tells_."

Thom laughed. "So what I'm hearing is you enjoyed yourself." 

"It was good to have a fight, and the attackers having a mage almost made it feel fair." 

"Now that I don't believe." 

"Well, maybe not _almost_ ," Alanna admitted, grinning over at her twin, who was perched midway between his desk and his chair. 

She'd been away with the King's Own for a couple of weeks, after news had abruptly stopped reaching the capital from a small fief in the east. They hadn't been able to tell whether the besiegers were a remaining pocket of Tortall's own malcontents, or someone else's advance forces testing the country for weakness in secret. Either way, it wasn't Alanna's job to figure it out. She'd passed along everything she'd picked up to George after their reunion the night before. 

She'd been in a hurry to visit Thom, but nervous, too. Things had been different ever since he'd gotten his Gift back and promptly immersed himself in magical experiments. Alanna had been relieved, but she didn't like the way there was now a growing question of what to do about him – and whether there was any danger to fear from him – between the king and his advisors. Not that they talked about it to her. Even Gary, who once could have been counted on to say the direct, unkind thing everyone else was avoiding, had settled into a decidedly diplomatic version of himself. What she picked up came from hints George helpfully let drop. Had anyone said anything aloud, Alanna would have been quick to assure them, but no one did. She hated to bring it up herself. It was too much like suggesting they had cause for concern. 

For months she'd been itching to get into a fight with someone and dreading the things she'd say if she did. This excursion with the King's Own had helped her drain much of that tension away, and it was a pleasant surprise to find Thom apparently cheerful and at ease. He'd been worrying her lately. There was, increasingly, something off about him that Alanna couldn't put her finger on, something she could no longer ascribe to weak health. Whatever it was, he refused to talk about it. 

And whatever it was, he seemed to be doing well enough today.

"There's something about a castle being besieged in the story of Halleli, the Prophetess Queen of Barkal," said Thom thoughtfully. "Little kingdom, swallowed up by Carthak centuries ago," he explained, in answer to Alanna's faint inquisitive noise. "Built a fortress city under inspiration from the gods, apparently. Her consort is said to've turned into a turtle when attackers came..."

Alanna relaxed further, letting her head fall back over the arm of the chair and her eyes close. From time to time she dreamily replied to Thom's more forceful points. He wasn't much of a storyteller, she thought fondly, never had been. He'd focus on a spell that was giving him trouble for actual days without a break, and he was consistent enough in writing, but get him talking and he couldn't stick to a topic for two minutes at a time. Sure enough, soon it was Thom's deep concerns about the standard line of scholarship about this Halleli, and a little later a criticism of library classification systems. 

Then Alanna noticed that he'd stopped talking for some time. She looked over at him. He was still curled up in his chair, staring off into the middle distance with one leg hooked over the edge of his desk in a pose that had to be more comfortable than it looked. The more she thought about it the more she suspected he was using magic to keep his chair upright without even noticing. 

Before she could ask what he was thinking of, he said, casually, without turning to her, "I think I should leave court – travel around looking into the damage the Coronation Day attack did, see what I can do to fix it."

"Absolutely not!" said Alanna, jumping to her feet so quickly the armchair rocked behind her. 

Thom still wouldn't look at her. "Excuse me?"

"You _can't_."

"Are you _forbidding_ me?" snapped Thom, getting to his feet as well. 

"No, I'm telling you it's a gods-cursed idiotic idea, and you _can't_ do it."

"Just keep saying that!"

"You're not – you're not _all right_ yet, Thom, you know it – "

"That's not for you to say!"

"And you can't protect yourself against everything out there, _even_ with magic."

"You're offering to come with me?"

"I can't go, not _now_." She took a breath, and then another. They were both shouting. More softly, she said, "George – George asked me to marry him."

"About time," said Thom, voice half-strangled with the effort of being quiet. "Were you working up to telling me about it?"

"I – "

Thom waved her into silence, sighing. "I mean, congratulations, I'm happy for you. Honestly. What's he been waiting for?"

"I think he just – didn't want to crowd me." Shaking her head, she said, "Why do you even want to leave? Really, I mean?" 

"Would you stop me if I tried?"

"I'd _follow_ you."

"Then I'd really better not," said Thom. "George'd be after me, then, and he wouldn't be the only one." 

"Right. I thought you'd see reason." 

He smiled faintly. That seemed to be the end of his intention to go adventure-seeking – Thom! Of all people! – but Alanna was shaken by the outburst. His wish to leave and her total inability to understand it irked her. What could make her brother, who had always hated discomfort of any kind, consider taking to the road seriously enough to mention it? 

He'd settled back into his odd perch, hugging himself slightly. There was a bleak, withdrawn look on his face. 

"What's this about, anyway?" asked Alanna, coming to sit on the free end of his desk. "What made you think of it?"

"Doesn't matter." 

"No one... said anything to you, while I was gone. Did they?"

Thom glared up at her, fierce and bitter. "As if they _needed_ to say it!"

"If you'd only try to make friends," she heard herself saying, knowing perfectly well it was the worst thing she could say.

"If I'd make friends, we could all be one happy family? No one'd whisper behind my back how it was tempting fate to have me here? How I'd have been better off dead? How that would've been so much easier, so much less _embarrassing_ for you, having me gone all at once instead of here, slowly going crazy and keeping you tied to the palace?" With a hoarse gasp, Thom buried his tear-stained face in his hands. 

Alanna, stunned out of all reaction by the torrent of bile, stared unmoving at him for a long moment. She should have guessed it was something like this. Thom didn't mind about anything, really, except his magic – or her. She tried to keep her voice controlled and take shallow breaths. It was all she needed now, to start crying herself. "Don't tell me you believe any of that." 

He mumbled something, out of which the only coherent part sounded like "friends seem to."

"Then they're wrong. If they think it, it's because you haven't given them a chance to like you." 

Raising reddened eyes, he gave her a sullen stare. 

"They could," she insisted. "They're not bad people, Thom, if you just _tried_ – "

"I don't want to try. I don't need them, anyway." 

"It can't just be me all the time!" said Alanna. "I have duties, responsibilities, I'm going to be _married_ – "

"But I don't like anyone else, and they certainly don't like me." 

Alanna ground her teeth in frustration, wondering whether to go on. She'd done some hard thinking about this on the ride back to Corus, the kind of complicated emotional reasoning she hated to have to do. This probably wasn't the time to start in on her conclusions, but what if it helped? 

"It took me years to handle having friends," she said. "I couldn't believe it, no matter how many times I had it proved to me, that people liked me, even though I hadn't done anything to deserve it. Every last one of them had to drill it into my head, over and over again, that that's not what being friends was about. I was _lucky_. I'll never get done being grateful."

Thom was watching her suspiciously, waiting for something to object to.

"I didn't really – it was so obvious at the time, to feel like that, I never questioned it. But other people didn't. Other people don't. It's – the way we were brought up. Not really having anyone but each other, our father hardly knowing we existed..." She paused, letting the flash of confusion evaporate. It had been some time since she'd called anyone but Myles her father: another measure of how far apart her life and Thom's had grown. 

"Sure," said Thom. "I know that. But like you said, it all happened to you, too. And you're fine now. How's that meant to help me?" 

"That's not..."

"Other people have dealt with miserable childhoods without raising mad dukes from the grave. You, for example." 

"I'm not... I don't..." There were words she needed to say, but she couldn't find them. She felt perilously, hideously distant from him. Launching herself from the end of the desk, she yanked Thom out of his chair and dragged him into a tight hug. 

"I do appreciate it, you know," he mumbled. "This sort of thing, it's really not you, and – thanks." 

They held onto each other until everything felt a little less dire. Before she left, Alanna said, "I'm going to fix this. See if I don't."

What Thom called after her sounded an awful lot like "that's what I'm afraid of." 

 

Thom didn't leave court, and Alanna was less daunted than ever. 

It came as no surprise that she had only to be presented with a concrete problem to set all her catastrophic force of activity against it. When the twins were eight, they'd had the only significant fight of their childhood about a locked chest Thom had discovered mouldering in a corner of the stillroom at Trebond. He'd been convinced the lock was magical and set himself the task of finding the spell to open it; Alanna, hearing about it, had pestered Coram about smithing and actually made her own tools to break open the chest – which had turned out to contain nothing more exciting than old linens with their mother's monogram on them, but that had been lost in the ensuing fight: Thom had found it, so it was clearly _his_ quest. He hadn't spoken to his sister for almost a full day. 

There wasn't much he could do about her present determination to fix him, though. She was already gone enough that he couldn't have brought himself to ignore her when she was around. When she wasn't away fighting things, dispensing the king's law, or settling in at her new home in Pirate's Swoop, Alanna was busy with court functions, which she despised and made Thom attend with her. 

After the first few times, he started trying to make conversation, less because he thought it would do any good than because he didn't like to be seen spending whole evenings hiding in Alanna's shadow, talking only when she wasn't busy with anyone else. It didn't get any easier the more he did it, and he never quite came to see the point. Eventually he noticed people were a little less uncomfortable around him. 

The new royal couple's functions were nothing like the balls and dinners Thom had attended at the end of King Roald's reign. A good deal of formality couldn't be done away with, but people actually seemed to enjoy themselves at these events, on top of the usual scheming and preening. The variety of the attendees was a source of interest: what would mild, stability-loving Roald have thought, seeing so many Bazhir and foreigners, not even diplomats, being treated as honored guests? 

Sometimes Thom begged off attending, and Alanna not only let him but stayed with him, seeing he was in no condition to be around people. He could see how much it hurt her that all her efforts weren't doing more for him, but he also couldn't hide it from her. 

She was still trying to understand what was wrong, and the more she tried, the less Thom could find the words to explain it. Being Alanna, she got angry and accused him of not wanting to get better. It was close enough to what he often felt that he grew angry in return. So maybe he did sometimes think it was all for nothing, that he'd be happier if everyone just kept leaving him alone – 

Because neither of them wanted to part in anger, Alanna always forced herself to stay, and Thom, though he never tried to keep her, was always relieved that she did. Still, there was nothing they could do then but clutch each other and weep with sheer misery. There was a grotesque familiarity about it that struck Thom with particular force one evening. 

They had done just the same when they were small, alone in a house of servants too busy and too nervous to keep an eye on them, and their father, whose presence had been more like a solidified absence. Thom wondered if Alanna ever thought of those times. The two of them had looked more alike then, he thought, all at once surprised by Alanna's scarred and weather-beaten hand bunched in his tunic. For a moment he had expected to see the fierce, unhappy girl she'd been instead of the tried warrior and hero she was. 

He raised his head from his sister's shoulder.

"What is it?" she asked, mopping her damp brow.

"When we were children..." 

"I know," she said, hiccuping a chuckle. "And here I am King's Champion, and you the most powerful sorcerer in the Eastern Lands."

"It's all gone according to plan, then," said Thom, "with a few glaring exceptions." 

"On my side as well as yours," she said, and it was for once impossible to tell what she was thinking of. 

"I'll be all right," he said. "If you get cleaned up you can still make it. You'll only have missed Jonathan's speech, and you know those always give you the giggles." 

"Do not." She stood still while he cast a small charm to tidy her hair and outfit. 

"What, it doesn't befit a knight's dignity to acknowledge her king is a windbag?"

That had her laughing outright. "Are you sure you won't come, too?"

"Next time," he promised. "I know, you'll have to find someone else to whisper to about how radiant _Her_ Majesty is looking..."

She stuck out her tongue at him. 

When she was gone, he reflected that things must, in spite of everything, be getting better. Only a few months back they couldn't have laughed off a scene like the one they'd just had.

 

An entirely unexpected angle of Alanna's attack appeared about this time: magic. One day she brought a book with her, explaining there was an illusion spell in it she thought would be handy know but couldn't quite get the hang of from the description, and if she and Thom put their heads together they'd be sure to get it. 

From then on, claiming she was only interested in them from a practical standpoint, she brought magical problems to him more and more often. After some months of this, she caught herself passionately defending an argument concerning an arcane point of theory and laughed, looking slightly horrified.

"Don't worry," said Thom, "I promise you aren't turning into a scholar."

"It's as much fun as tactics – I really had no idea." Putting on a determinedly casual face, she added, "When Roger taught us theory it always seemed like the dullest thing in the world." 

"Did it ever occur to you, dear sister, that His Grace of Conté had absolutely no imagination?"

Alanna's laughter at that was hoarse with relief. 

Thom concluded, after some observation, that this idea of hers arose from the overall trend of Jonathan and Thayet's court. For a long time, magic in Tortall had been mysterious and despised, shoved away into convents and cloisters where it would have the appearance of being shackled by religion. A king who embraced his Gift, with a Champion whose legendary feats featured magic no less than feats of arms, couldn't ignore magic or distance himself from it as his predecessors had. Thom thought it was about time, and if it helped Alanna get over her lingering conviction that using her Gift was cheating, then that just made it better. 

Nowhere was this trend reflected as clearly as in the company the monarchs assembled around themselves. At one of the perpetual balls, Alanna introduced him to an unnecessarily tall, gawky brown man about the same age as the twins. He flinched whenever someone called him Arram and insisted that "Numair sounded far more impressive," with a false, nervous brightness that didn't even fool Thom. Not that he expected many occasions to call him anything at all, except that in moments Numair turned out to be more preposterously wrong about the divine properties of magic than he'd believed possible. 

Alanna tried to separate them but got caught up in the argument instead. It expanded, attracting all the magic users in the room, until the queen sailed into their midst to claim her husband for hosting duties. Thayet's presence had a way of taking the wind out of any pervasive mood. 

Afterwards, complaining of Numair to Alanna, Thom said, "Surely _I'm_ not that arrogant."

She clicked her tongue pityingly. 

As she began to be away more and more often, Alanna sent others to keep an eye on Thom. None of them ever said as much, but it was obvious enough. Numair was the only one he suspected came of his own volition, because he always had a point of theory to tease out and apparently couldn't think of anything else until he had beat Thom's brain against it a few times. George was dependable for an awkward chat when he was at court, and Jonathan still couldn't talk to Thom without turning into an icicle, which Thom fully intended to needle Alanna about for the rest of their lives. 

He had no idea what to make of the fact that his most frequent visitor, when she was resident at court, was Queen Thayet. It was frankly baffling. She rarely stayed long. She'd go away if he told her he didn't want any company, and at least she didn't expect anything from him in the way of conversation. She simply – talked. He had to admit that having such a precise source of information on the political atmosphere was welcome; otherwise he'd have been left with whatever he could scrounge. Alanna couldn't help keeping track of what was going on, but the machinations of diplomacy made her antsy. Much better to get it from Thayet, since she persisted in offering, even if he did end up hearing more than he wanted about educating commoners, buying and breeding ponies, and the queen's pregnancies. 

One day, when she came to say goodbye before going off somewhere with her Riders, Thom told her, "You don't have to keep doing this, you know, just because you feel guilty for marrying Jonathan, or, or – "

Thayet shook her head, giving him an arch look. "You really don't understand anything, do you? I started visiting you because Alanna is my _friend_ , and I wanted to help her. I haven't stopped, and I assure you I have my own perfectly good reasons for that." 

"Like spying on me?"

"Well, come to that, _are_ you plotting to take my lord's throne?"

"By what right?" Thom asked seriously. 

She shrugged. "I hear you thought you could be a god, once."

"I've learned better," said Thom, realizing he was being teased. "Anyway, I wouldn't have your husband's job for the whole blessed Carthaki treasury." 

"Some of our nobles, I believe, would happily kill him if they thought it would get them a place in his marriage bed." 

Thom held his breath a moment, gauging how serious she was being, then laughed until his sides ached. 

"Thanks!" said Thayet shortly, when he was in a state to hear her. 

Blinking at her through streaming eyes, Thom gasped, "I trust Your Majesty is not offended."

"My majesty, no. My vanity – " Her lips trembled. Then she too broke into peals of laughter. 

So the queen, for her own obscure reasons, seemed to like him. That was something.

After making noises about it for about a year, Alanna invited him to stay at Pirate's Swoop. Despite seeing her with George often enough, Thom still had trouble thinking of his sister as being actually married, and he was skeptical about the planned visit. It was also the first time he had left Corus in years, a fact to which Alanna ascribed more of his hesitation than was warranted.

The ride alone put him out of temper for days after arriving, enough that he wouldn't admit the constant fascination of the sea so close at hand, and didn't admire the castle nearly as much as Alanna and George would have liked. 

After a few days Maude found him pacing the battlements, trying not to gawk too obviously at the shifting expanse of water. Alanna had mentioned that Maude was there, but Thom hadn't taken it in. It was the first time they'd met since he was fifteen. She wasn't, to all appearances, overjoyed about the reunion, but then, neither was he. That last meeting had been entirely too full of dire warnings about the danger he courted by valuing nothing but magic and isolating himself from those around him. 

"It's too cold for my old bones up at Trebond," she said cooly, explaining her presence. "I stayed to see Coram and his lady settled there – you are lucky you have them to take on the duties that should have been yours."

"So you came here to rest," said Thom, already bored.

"Your sister will have children who will need looking after, someday." 

Watching the Lioness standard whip around in the stiff breeze, Thom said, "She's done very well for herself, hasn't she? You must be proud." 

"I always knew she had a great destiny on her," said Maude. "I'm glad she's found room in it for happiness and comfort, too."

"It doesn't get much more comfortable than this place," Thom admitted. In the village visible from the castle walls, an argument had broken out, shrill human voices masked by the honking of geese. "So very rustic, too." 

"And you?"

It took him a moment to work out what she was asking. "I'll make an excellent eccentric uncle."

She frowned. "You don't have to punish yourself like that. You can hope for better."

Thom gave her a long, bemused look. "There'll be plenty of time to treat your future charges to your wisdom. It's never really hit the mark with me. I thank you for trying." 

He was surprised when she took the dismissal for what it was, and more surprised when she didn't revive the conversation another time. She'd always been depressingly persistent. Perhaps she'd given up on him at last. 

On the ride back to Corus some weeks later, Alanna charged him with upsetting Maude. 

"She upset me," he said, "so we're even."

Alanna sighed dramatically. "Of all the self-involved... Tell me you didn't hate it, at least."

"I didn't. I'll have an easier time imagining you there now. It never quite fit before, you being a lady of the manor. Much better now I know it's such a peculiar manor." 

She grinned gratefully, so it was worth a little untruth. He couldn't wait to be back at the palace.

 

For a change Thayet had summoned him to her solarium. It was a very gentle summons, but a summons nonetheless. Was this a talent she'd always had, or was it something the gods granted to you when you were queen? 

There was nothing chatty about her today. Brisk and business-like, attired so as to leave no doubt whether she merited the title of the most beautiful woman in the world, she said, "You've heard His Majesty is working on founding a school of magic outside of Corus." 

"Yes, and I seethe with envy for all the students who won't have to give up every one of life's comforts for the sake of learning." 

"From what Alanna's let drop, it doesn't sound like you had any comforts to give up when you went to the Mithrans. That's all beside the point. We'd like you to be involved in the school. You're one of the most powerful sorcerers in the country, and Jonathan wouldn't mind putting you to work at something we might someday hope to understand and profit from."

"I see. So that's to be my place in your reign of goodwill and bringing hope to the benighted." 

"Those _are_ our worthy, if somewhat overambitious, goals. What do you say?"

"What does Alanna say about it?"

"Nothing, since we haven't asked her."

"It wasn't her idea?"

"Certainly not." 

Thom considered, but not very long. "I won't teach."

Thayet grinned. "We'll talk about that later." 

"I promise you do not want me to," he said earnestly. "And I won't work with Master Numair. I don't care what they taught him at that Carthaki university, he has _no_ method – " 

"Fine, fine." Thayet waved a dismissive hand. "I'm not your sister, so I don't have to let you air your grievances at me. I'm not even Gifted. You can tell all that, and anything else you might think of in the meanwhile, next week, when the planning committee meets." 

It was two weeks before Alanna turned up, sporting a bandaged head she refused to let him make a fuss over. "All part of the glorious life of a knight," she said. "No one tells you sometimes it means getting kicked in the head by the person climbing the ladder you're holding in place."

"You could've levitated whoever it was," Thom pointed out unsympathetically. 

"I probably would've, if I hadn't been worn out from keeping the fire down in the first place."

Then of course he had to hear all about the fire and the rest of it – he didn't exactly care, but it was always fun to hear Alanna describing her exploits – so it took another quarter of an hour for her to bring up the school of magic. 

"Are you regretting it yet?" she asked, when she was through pounding him on the back in her enthusiasm. 

"I wasn't, until your dear friend Gary came at me with paperwork."

Alanna shuddered. "He's a paperwork fanatic. I'd never have believed it, if someone'd told me what to expect when we were pages. But aside from that?"

"This should make you happy – the sight's a clear four miles from here. You know how I feel about riding, so I've been walking it back and forth almost every other day."

"And it hasn't killed you yet!"

"It's not summer yet."

"Poor Thom!" she said, laughing. "As if you've ever been hot in the summer, since you learned that cooling spell." 

"I don't know if I'll ever be used to people just turning up to talk to me," he admitted. "At least it's always about magic." 

"Careful now. At this rate you might even make some friends one of these days." 

He smiled sourly. She'd gradually taken to treating his problems like a very serious joke, which helped more than he would have suspected. It was an acknowledgement that all was not well and likely never would be, but also a way of placing that on a footing with the rest of life's concerns. Thom reflected that she'd probably had to get used to this way of organizing things: a life where you talked to gods and fulfilled legendary deeds would be intolerable otherwise. 

"D'you think it'll ever be a match for the Carthaki university?" she was asking.

"With this Ozorne on the imperial throne, there won't be much left for us to compete with, after a while." 

"I've missed something while I was away, clearly!" said Alanna in mock alarm. "Let's you and I stroll over to the school and you can fill me in on all the latest politics." 

Thom shook his head at her unrelenting enthusiasm for physical activity. He reached for his cloak. "A month ago their old emperor died..." 

 

Daine's thoughts were still fizzing with excitement after her latest lesson as she cut along the shortest route back to the Rider barracks in the early dusk. She didn't notice the person coming up from the other direction until she had to swerve to avoid a collision. 

"Watch it!" he said. 

Watch it yourself, she thought, but she only said, "I wasn't paying attention. Sorry."

"Neither was I, really," he said absently, peering at her. 

He was a thin, red-headed and red-bearded man dressed in garishly rich colors. His resemblance to the Lioness hardly took a second look to notice. So this was the sorcerer Lord Thom, Alanna's brother. Alanna had mentioned him briefly: "You won't be seeing much of him," she'd said. "He hasn't been near a horse in two years at least."

Daine was wondering whether to introduce herself or pass on when he said, "You must be Daine." 

"Does everyone around here know who I am?" she asked, studying him uncertainly. He didn't offer to shake her hand, and glancing at his white hands she was willing to bet she wouldn't find any calluses on them. Now this was every inch her idea of a noble!

"Oh, it's common knowledge you're the latest stray waif to turn up to enrich the reign of Jonathan IV and Thayet his Queen with your talents. I can't wait to see what use they find for you." 

When he spoke at length more than a hint of northern twang, rather like what Daine had heard around her growing up, made itself evident in his voice. Something of the same was buried in Alanna's speech, she realized. It made him seem a little more human, and she didn't answer back sharply, as she'd meant. Just because the Lioness's brother was determined to pick a fight with her, didn't mean she had to rise to the bait. 

"Everyone's been very kind to me ever since I got here," she said. 

"I don't doubt it." He looked as if he was about to say something else, then changed his mind. "Don't get run away with the idea that I go around picking on little girls for fun. I'm an even more strayed waif than you, really. It's Their Majesties' pet hobby, picking us up, setting us on our feet, and putting us to work." 

"I'd be proud to help anyway I could," said Daine. "Tortall's a fair wondrous country, in case you haven't noticed. There's more kinds of folk here than I ever imagined, and there's a place for all of 'em. I'm even starting to believe there's one for me. The queen treats me like my opinion's worth as much as hers, and the king..."

"You've met His Royal Priggishness, then?"

Daine looked down, blushing in confusion. 

"Yes, so I've heard," he said, with a dry chuckle. "Apparently you get used to it." 

"I'd better get going," said Daine. She still wasn't sure what to make of this strange, rude man. 

"Good luck," said Lord Thom. "We're all going to need it." 

He was off in the direction of the palace before she could ask what he'd meant. Definitely not a comfortable person to talk to, she thought, putting on a bit of speed. 

She described the encounter to Numair the next time she saw him. 

"The only remarkable part of your account is that he spoke to you at all," said Numair. "Still, he has a mind like a steel trap, and without his contributions the royal university's curriculum would have far more holes in it than it does. The students are in awe of him – those who don't hate him outright from the first, at least."

"He teaches?" asked Daine, wrinkling her nose.

"Advanced courses only," said Numair, in dire accents. 

Daine giggled. Tortall sure was a strange place, but she thought she was getting used to it.


End file.
